


The Sins of the Father

by menel



Category: Arthurian Mythology & Adaptations - All Media Types, Camelot (TV)
Genre: Episode Tag, F/M, Lust, M/M, Magic, Pining, Visions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-03
Updated: 2012-06-03
Packaged: 2017-11-06 17:03:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/421239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/menel/pseuds/menel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In order to teach Arthur a lesson, Merlin takes him to the place where it all began.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sins of the Father

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place after the third episode of Camelot entitled "Guinevere." It was originally published on my LiveJournal on April 11, 2011.

Arthur was drinking too much. He knew it but he didn’t want to stop, couldn’t seem to stop. Surely even kings were allowed to celebrate at weddings, especially ones who had presided over the ceremony themselves. Arthur drained the rest of his wine in a long drink. Dimly, he believed that the wine would take away the bitter aftertaste of marrying the woman he desired to the Champion of his kingdom. The universe was playing a cosmic joke on him. He had been given the world only to have a crucial part of it ripped away. He rubbed the rim of the empty goblet with his thumb. He needed more wine.  
  
Arthur stood up and scanned the great hall. Kings shouldn’t need to refill their own goblets, but the walk would do him good. He looked for some of the villagers who were acting as servants for the occasion, but the people were starting to swim before him. He had been developing a steady headache since the ceremony ended, a dull throb that was growing more forceful at the back of his head. This headache was unlike any potential hangover that Arthur had experienced before, but he felt too disoriented to try and figure out why. His eyes rested on the familiar form of his brother Kay. Kay was perhaps the only one who would call him out on his drinking, but his brother was too busy carousing with the new knight that he and Leontes had recruited. What was his name? Gawain. There would be time to get to know him later . . . after he found more wine.  
  
When he turned around, the next person Arthur caught sight of was the last person that he wanted to see, but Arthur found himself walking towards him nonetheless. That was the effect Merlin had had on him from the very beginning when he had wanted to rip the sorcerer’s throat out for walking into his life and revealing it to be a lie. Merlin had a magnetic appeal, a charm and charisma that Arthur found difficult to resist. These were traits that he knew a leader should possess, traits that he would have to cultivate in himself. But more than that, there was a darkness about Merlin, a threat of barely veiled danger that Arthur found most compelling of all. Merlin was an enigma that Arthur wanted to solve, even as he chafed under the older man’s watchful eye.  
  
“Found your way back, I see,” Arthur said unkindly when he stood in front of the other man.  
  
“No thanks to you,” Merlin replied with a faint nod of his head.  
  
There was a touch of mockery about the gesture and Arthur’s jaw clenched. A passing villager noticed his empty goblet and after getting permission from the king, the young woman refilled the goblet with the jar of wine that she carried. Merlin watched quietly as the goblet was refilled, his eyes flicking towards his charge as Arthur drank from the cup. He studied him. Something was different about Arthur tonight. He could sense it.  
  
“A king should be able to hold his liquor,” Merlin stated matter-of-factly when Arthur put the goblet down on the table beside them.  
  
“Are you suggesting that I can’t?” Arthur shot back.  
  
Merlin suddenly seized Arthur’s left arm, pulling him closer even as he stepped forward and invaded Arthur’s personal space. His right hand hovered over Arthur’s cheek as though he meant to touch him, but did not. These unexpected bouts of closeness always made Arthur’s pulse race, but he willed himself to stay calm. He kept his expression neutral, almost disinterested, as Merlin seemed to peer into his soul.  
  
“What is wrong with you?” the sorcerer asked quietly, breath warm over Arthur’s face.  
  
The question disturbed the king and he took a step back, but Merlin’s grip was like an iron clad on his arm. “I don’t know what you mean,” he said uneasily.  
  
Merlin would not be swayed. “Come with me,” he ordered, pulling the king towards one of the side doors of the great hall.  
  
“You can’t just –”  
  
The protest died in Arthur’s throat. During his short conversation with Merlin the throbbing at the back of his head had progressed from a dull ache to a stab of pain. Perhaps there was something wrong. At least, more than the lovesickness that he felt.  
  
Merlin led them down the darkened hallway outside the great hall where they were less likely to encounter revelers from the wedding. As the sounds of the celebration faded away, Arthur grew more aware of his surroundings, of the coolness of the hallway and the sea breeze that drifted in from the passing balconies. The pain in the back of his head was still there, but he felt more focused now. He was certainly focused when Merlin pushed him against the wall of the hallway and pressed his body against his. This time he placed both hands on either side of Arthur’s face and touched his forehead to the young man’s.  
  
“Be still,” he commanded.  
  
Arthur obeyed, confused, intrigued and slightly aroused by Merlin’s actions.  
  
“I know you’re there,” Merlin continued in his quiet menacing tone and the uneasiness in Arthur grew, as did the pain in his head. Somehow he knew that Merlin was not speaking to him.  
  
“Be gone!”  
  
The pain spiked unbearably, but Arthur’s cry was muffled by the hand that slid down his face to cover his mouth. His chest constricted tightly. He thought some force was squeezing the life out of him and then just as suddenly all was calm. He exhaled into Merlin’s palm before going boneless against the other man. He might have collapsed on the floor if Merlin had not propped him up. He let his forehead rest on Merlin’s shoulder and took several deep even breaths.  
  
“What just happened?” he asked when he felt that he could stand up again. Merlin now grasped him by both shoulders, holding him at arm’s length.  
  
The sorcerer remained silent, still studying the other man through the moonlight that fell in a strip from a nearby balcony. Merlin’s face however, was shrouded in darkness. Satisfied that all was well, he nodded his head.  
  
“Merlin?” Arthur prodded, waiting for an answer.  
  
“We ride in the morning,” was Merlin’s reply before releasing the other man.  
  
Arthur was left standing in the hallway. He watched as Merlin walked away from him, passing the great hall and heading towards the bedchambers. As usual, Merlin’s answer had been no answer at all.  
  


* * * * *

The following morning Merlin was already waiting for him when Arthur came out onto the courtyard. Their horses were ready and provisions had been packed. Arthur sensed that there was a long journey ahead. Wordlessly, Merlin got on his horse. Arthur followed suit and with a quick glance at Merlin to acknowledge that he was ready, the two of them rode out of Camelot.

Merlin set a brisk pace and they rode all morning without pause. Arthur had no idea where they were headed, but his pride won out over his curiosity and he did not ask. Part of him knew that he was behaving foolishly. Riding blindly behind Merlin was a tacit acknowledgement of his trust and Arthur did not quite trust Merlin. Not yet. He was not even certain if he ever would, especially after he had seen him with his sister. He thought about it too much, that unexpected moment of betrayal, but it had cut him deeply. The image of the two of them together had been branded in his mind. What little sleep he had managed the night before had not been peaceful. When his dreams hadn’t been filled with golden tresses and a sun-kissed beach, they were of a fire lit room and a man with a scar on his left cheek.

At noon the two travelers stopped at a roadside tavern. Merlin immediately chose a small table in the corner. Arthur watched as the other man discreetly surveyed the room.

“Is everything with you about strategy?” he asked, finally breaking the silence between them. “Even where we sit in a tavern?”

Merlin’s eyes swept the room once more, before he turned to face the king. “You must always be prepared,” he answered.

Soon, two bowls of stew and a plate of bread were placed in front of them, together with two cups of ale. Merlin began eating immediately, but Arthur stirred his stew listlessly.

“You should eat,” Merlin said after a while. “You look tired.”

“I didn’t sleep well last night,” Arthur admitted, regretting the words as soon as he said them.

“Bad dreams?”

Arthur glanced sharply at the sorcerer, but Merlin only looked at him with that mysterious half-smile that infuriated Arthur to no end.

“It’s none of your concern,” he said, knowing full well that Merlin made everything that had to do with Arthur part of his concern.

“You should eat,” Merlin said again, seemingly not hearing Arthur’s response. “We’ll be riding all afternoon. You’ll need your strength.”

“And where are we headed?” Arthur asked at last, tearing a piece of bread and dunking it in his stew.

“Home.”

“My home is in the other direction,” Arthur informed him, before taking a bite of his bread.

“Your **real** home. Where it all began.”

Arthur had more questions, but his growling stomach distracted him. He had had very little to eat before they set out that morning and one taste of the stew soon reminded him how hungry he really was. The rest of the meal passed in silence, but it was an unusually comfortable one. There had been a growing tension between the two of them since Arthur had accepted Morgan’s invitation to dinner. Then he had left the castle during the night, disturbed by his dream of Guinevere and even more unsettled by the sight of Merlin and his sister. He had not had a chance to speak to Merlin since then, and when he recalled his behavior at the wedding it made him cringe. Nevertheless, despite his harsh words at the start of the meal he felt a sort of calm sitting across from the sorcerer, as though there were some unofficial truce between them. Merlin was taking him to “where it all began.” Arthur didn’t know what that meant, but it excited him. At last, some mysteries of his past would be revealed.

* * * * *

“It all began here?” Arthur questioned. “In another ruined castle?” He couldn’t hide the disappointment in his voice as he glanced around the dilapidated courtyard. The place was in even worse condition than Camelot had been when they’d first arrived. This castle looked like it had been raided in its last days.

“This isn’t just another ruined castle,” Merlin informed him. “This was once the stronghold of Gorlois, the Duke of Cornwall, one of your father’s greatest rivals. This,” Merlin said with outstretched arms, “is Tintagel.”

Merlin’s explanation sounded as though it should have meant something to him, but at his blank expression, the sorcerer stretched out his hand in offering. “Come,” he said. “I want to show you something.”

Arthur looked at Merlin for a moment before grasping his hand and allowing himself to be led deeper into the castle. They passed through several hallways and climbed two staircases before Merlin stopped in front of two great double doors. He released Arthur’s hand to push the doors open and strode inside. Cautiously, Arthur followed. They were in an enormous bedchamber, one that had probably belonged to the master of the castle.

“This,” Merlin said, standing in the middle of the room, “is where it all began. Sorcery and rape,” he said, echoing Arthur’s words with a smile. He turned to face the king. “Do you wish to see?”

“See what?”

“How you were conceived?”

Arthur let out a short laugh, but his smile faded at Merlin’s serious expression. “You can do that?” he asked uncertainly.

Merlin bowed slightly. “I am a sorcerer,” he said, the barest hint of a smile on his lips.

“One who doesn’t use his power,” Arthur taunted, more out of fear than any real desire to hurt Merlin.

The smile that was ghosting Merlin’s lips vanished. “All power comes at a price,” he said darkly, “and I have paid dearly for mine.” He turned away so that Arthur couldn’t see his face before he spoke again. “I make this offer only once. And only here. Do you wish to see?”

Merlin heard Arthur’s footsteps as the other man walked towards him so when he turned around again, he knew that Arthur would be standing in front of him. The curiosity in Arthur burned too brightly. Merlin recognized it in the flare of his eyes.

“Show me,” the young king said.

Merlin’s actions were swift. Before Arthur could register what was happening, his senses were assaulted by the sights and sounds of another place, another time. It was night and he was in a torch lit room. Merlin was standing behind him, whispering words that he didn’t understand. A mirror was before him. He gasped when he saw his reflection, for the face staring back at him was not one he recognized. This face, he realized, was the face of his father, the face of Uther Pendragon. But before he could memorize those unfamiliar features, they were changing before him and he wasn’t spared the pain of their transformation. It felt like his skin was being pulled off his bones, molded and reshaped into the likeness of the Duke of Cornwall. The process could not have lasted more than a minute, but the pain was excruciating. When it was complete, he felt himself touch his cheeks with his hands in amazement. Merlin was looking at Uther’s reflection over his right shoulder.

“Does it please you, sire?” he asked, with the hint of mockery that Arthur had already grown used to.

“Very much, Merlin,” he replied, unsure now whether the voice he heard was the voice of Uther or of Gorlois.

“My payment for this one night,” Merlin reminded him.

“Yes, yes,” Uther said absently, still admiring his reflection. “The child, should she conceive.”

“She will.”

The certainty in Merlin’s tone chilled Arthur. The sorcerer gave the king a hard look that Uther did not notice, but Arthur marked well. Then Merlin proceeded to transform himself and Sir Ulfius, whom Arthur hadn’t seen standing in the corner of the room.

The three men rode for hours and when Tintagel came into view, Arthur was awed at the magnificence of the castle at the height of its glory. They passed through the heavily guarded gates without any difficulty, for why should the lord of the castle be denied entrance? As they walked through the same hallways and staircases that Merlin had led him through only minutes before, Arthur understood that Tintagel was prepared for a siege.

Igraine was waiting in the bedchamber that she shared with her husband, the same bedchamber that Arthur and Merlin stood in now. Arthur felt the lust flare in his father at the sight of Igraine. His mother was beautiful as she walked towards Uther, surprised and overjoyed to welcome her lord. Uther accepted her warm embrace and the desire in him grew. Arthur felt it spreading. His skin tingled with the craving for flesh on flesh and in moments Uther had led Igraine to the bed. Uther had only this one night and he made the most of it. He took Igraine again and again with a hunger that made all of Arthur’s woodland conquests seem paltry by comparison. This was true lust, the sin that could bring down kingdoms.

Arthur staggered backwards when Merlin released him. The vision had ended but the burning desire had carried over into his consciousness. “Why did you show me that?” he gasped.

“So that you may learn.”

“What lesson is there to be learned from sorcery and rape?” Arthur hissed. He was losing his battle with his emotions and coupled with the effects of the vision, he was being overwhelmed by sensation. Before him, Merlin stood calm and implacable.

Merlin closed the small distance between them. “Not to repeat the sins of the father.”

“Sins of the father?” Arthur sneered. “One that you facilitated?”

Merlin’s eyes flashed. “I agreed to your father’s request because I knew that something good could be born out of that unholy union. I took you away from Uther’s world so that he would not corrupt you, so that you would have a different life. I did not do all that,” Merlin continued, his voice now low and threatening, “to have your baser nature step in upon your return. Control your emotions, Arthur. Nothing good will come from coveting what is not yours.”

Arthur had become fixated on the hollow base of Merlin’s throat that he could see through the opening of the other man’s shirt and his leather, riding cloak. He had heard Merlin’s words, but controlling his emotions was beyond him at this moment. He swallowed and reached out, placing his fingers on the exposed flesh. He was still breathing heavily. “Is this what it feels like?” he asked, swallowing again. “When you use your magic?”

“What you’re feeling is the transference of your father’s desires,” Merlin told him, catching the hand at his throat and holding it still. “It will pass.” He brushed by the young man and Arthur felt his frustration grow.

It was dusk now and the light that came through the large open windows was weakening. The weather had grown cooler with the onset of evening, but it did nothing to abate the fire that burned through Arthur’s blood. He untied the straps of his own riding cloak and shrugged it off, letting it fall to the floor. Then he undid the laces of his shirt, which had become too constricting. Half consciously, he slipped his shirt over his head, tossing it on top of his cloak. He ran his right hand over the lacings of his pants, cupping himself through the fabric. He was already half-hard. Arthur hung his head and tried to do what Merlin said, to control his emotions. But the feelings from his father’s conquest were too near and his father’s single-minded desire had gripped him too severely. His father would not be denied, why should he? He turned around. Merlin was standing at the foot of the large bed, arms crossed in contemplation. His back was to Arthur. Arthur walked quickly towards him, but before he could reach out for the sorcerer, Merlin had spun around and caught his wrists in mid-air.

“It will pass,” Merlin said again.

Arthur shook his head. “It will pass quicker if –”

“No,” Merlin cut him off.

Arthur was not above begging at this point. He had not known that lust could be like a sickness, a disease that ate you from within. What he felt at this moment was a desire more potent than any he had experienced before. It dwarfed the turmoil that he’d felt as he presided over Leontes and Guinevere’s wedding. This lust was all consuming and it had no outlet except through the man who stood before him. Arthur had never wanted anyone more.

“It will pass,” Merlin said, more kindly this time. “What you’re feeling doesn’t belong to you.”

“It feels real enough.”

“Most illusions are.”

“Please, Merlin,” Arthur pleaded. “Just this one time. I will never ask this of you again.”

There was something familiar about the request he had just made. It was an echo from a similar situation, but Arthur brushed those thoughts aside. His focus was solely on Merlin and the sorcerer’s unreadable expression.

Arthur was desperate. “Am I not your king?” he said at last.

This last comment broke Merlin’s composure and he let out a short laugh. “Well played, my young king,” he said with a slight nod, a lightness returning to his voice.

Arthur tugged at his wrists and Merlin released them. When he took another step forward, Merlin placed a hand on his chest. “Lie down,” he said.

Arthur glanced at the bed behind Merlin. He pulled aside some of the furs that were covering it and then lay down, his legs hanging over the side. The tightness in his pants had grown more uncomfortable during his battle of wills against the sorcerer. Now he felt the excitement of anticipation. Merlin stood over him. He reached out and brushed his hand over the hardness in Arthur’s pants. Arthur raised his hips to lean into the touch and Merlin pushed him down. His fingers went to work on the laces and Arthur exhaled when he was finally free of the constricting material. Impatience was part of his youth, and as Merlin slid his pants down his legs, Arthur reached down again and gripped himself firmly. A few quick strokes brought him to full hardness, and he rubbed his thumb in circles around the tip, milking the moisture he found there. He was about to set a quick pace but another hand closed over his and stilled his actions.

“Allow me,” Merlin said, his voice a whisper in Arthur’s ear.

So absorbed was Arthur in his own pleasure that he didn’t notice that Merlin had stretched out beside him. Arthur turned his head, not surprised to find that the sorcerer, except for his riding cloak, was still fully dressed. He leaned forward as though he meant to kiss the other man, but Merlin pulled back and shook his head.

“That is not what this is about,” he reminded the king, giving the cock in his hand one firm pull.

Arthur let his head fall back and closed his eyes. Yes, he thought as Merlin began his long even strokes. Yes, this is what he wanted.

Arthur’s hips moved in rhythm to the heat of Merlin’s hand, but it wasn’t enough. He needed more. As if sensing this Merlin shifted over Arthur’s body, planting a kiss at the base of Arthur’s throat and moving downwards. He pushed Arthur’s hips deeper into the bed and at the loss of contact with Merlin’s hand, Arthur let out a sigh of displeasure. The king was soon placated as a different kind of heat enveloped his shaft and he bucked involuntarily into its warm wetness. His hips were pushed down again as Merlin took him even deeper and Arthur clutched at the bed in an effort to keep still.

“Fuck,” he whispered as he shifted to give Merlin a better angle.

Merlin had resumed his pace and Arthur quickly discovered that the sorcerer was even more talented with his mouth than with his hand. That silver tongue could orchestrate its machinations in other ways. Just when Arthur thought he was reaching his peak, something brushed against his entrance. It was not his imagination when a finger circled the small ring before pushing its way inside.

“Wait,” he said, but the finger continued its invasion. Arthur’s body tensed at the intrusion. The action wasn’t painful, more uncomfortable and the king focused instead on Merlin’s mouth that was still working its magic. He could almost ignore Merlin’s other actions until that finger brushed a spot that Arthur hadn’t even known existed and then the king would swear that his vision had gone white.

“Fuck!” he cried out.

Merlin chuckled deep in his throat and the vibrations shot straight to Arthur’s cock. Arthur began pushing back onto the finger inside him, seeking that same spot again. Merlin obliged him by brushing the nub once more and then withdrawing slightly only to return with a second finger and then a third. The sorcerer was relentless. Arthur knew what was happening. Merlin was stretching him, preparing him for what the king knew would not come. Not this time. It was that thought – more than the fingers undulating inside him, more than the heat of Merlin’s mouth – it was the thought of Merlin’s cock cleaving him in two that made the king come.

Afterwards, Arthur lay boneless on the bed. Merlin withdrew, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he stood up. The room was almost completely dark. Arthur didn’t have the energy to move. This was bliss. The haze from the vision was gone and he finally felt like himself again. He couldn’t quite believe what had just happened and that thought was followed by the heaviness of realizing that it would never happen again. Just this one time, he had told Merlin in desperation. Just this once, Guinevere had said to him. They had both meant it, surely, but now Arthur wanted to take it back. He had to take it back. Merlin, however, would not allow him to get lost in his thoughts as the sorcerer tossed Arthur’s shirt and pants onto the bed. He had returned with a lit torch.

“Get dressed,” he told Arthur. “We’re not spending the night here.”

Arthur sat up. “And where are we spending the night?” he asked as he pulled his shirt over his head.

If Merlin heard the emphasis the king had placed on the word ‘we,’ he only gave that familiar half-smile. “Some place where we won’t be eaten alive by dust mites,” he replied. He was standing near the bed, watching as Arthur dressed.

It was illogical for Arthur to feel so exposed under Merlin’s gaze, especially after what they had just done, but he felt more than naked as he dressed. He hated his vulnerability and so he lashed out with a question that had been plaguing him for nearly two days.

“Are you in league with my sister?"

Merlin didn’t even flinch.

“Why do you ask that?”

Arthur knew this was an evasive technique, but he didn’t care. “I saw you,” he accused the sorcerer, “with Morgan. I passed by your bedchamber to tell you that I was leaving, and you were with her.”

Arthur heard his own words as though they were being spoken by someone else. That couldn’t be him speaking. He sounded like a jealous, spurned lover. Merlin evidently agreed if the amused expression on his face was anything to go by.

“It’s a pity you didn’t stay,” the sorcerer replied. “Then you would have seen your sister drug me and tie me up in chains.”

Arthur paused in tying the laces on his pants. “She didn’t,” he said, disbelievingly.

Merlin nodded. “She did.”

“But why?”

“Oh, for the usual. Clip some toenails, cut some hair.”

At Arthur’s confusion, Merlin grew serious. “Did she take anything from you?”

“Like what?”

“Anything. Hair? Skin? Maybe blood?”

Arthur shook his head. “No, of course not.”

“You’re sure?” Merlin persisted.

“I’m sure,” Arthur assured him.

Merlin didn’t look convinced but he nodded anyway. “Morgan is clever and dangerous,” he said after a moment. “I know you believe that you have a connection to her because she’s family, that you may even love her in some unusual fashion. Be careful, Arthur. You, more than anyone else, should know that blood does not make you family.”

Arthur remained silent. “You didn’t answer my question,” he said at last.

Merlin stepped forward and put his right hand on Arthur’s shoulder, still holding the torch in his left. “I am your ally and your counselor,” he said. “Only yours.”

“Is that all?”

Merlin’s expression was once more unreadable in the torchlight. Arthur searched it for some kind of clue, some kind of hint that what they had just shared had been more than the effects of a vision, but there was nothing to be found.

“For now,” the sorcerer replied.

 

**Fin.**

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: _Camelot_ is the property of Starz. No infringement is intended; no profit is being made.


End file.
